_ CHAPTER NINE. FIRING MISS COHEN
"There's no use talking, Abe," Morris Perlmutter declared to his partner, Abe Potash, as they sat in the sample-room of their spacious cloak-and-suit establishment. "We got a system of bookkeeping that would disgrace a peanut-stand. Here's a statement from the Hamsuckett Mills, and it shows a debit balance of eleven hundred and fifty dollars what we owe them. Miss Cohen's figures is eleven hundred and forty-two."
"That's in our favour already," Abe replied. "The Hamsuckett people must be wrong, Mawruss."
"No, they ain't, Abe," Morris said. "It's Miss Cohen's mistake."
"Mistake?" Abe exclaimed. "When it's in our favour, Mawruss, it ain't no mistake!"
"It's a mistake, anyhow, no matter in whose favour it is," said Morris. "Miss Cohen's footing was wrong. She gets carelesser every day."
"I'm surprised to hear you that you should talk that way, Mawruss," Abe rejoined. "Miss Cohen's been with us for five years, and we ain't lost nothing by her, neither. You know as well as I do, Mawruss, her uncle, Max Cohen, is a good customer of ours. Only last week he bought of us a big bill of goods, Mawruss."
"Just the same, Abe," Morris went on, "if we get a bright young man in there, instead of Miss Cohen, it would be a big improvement. We ought to get some one in there what can manage a double entry, and can run a card-index for our credits."
Abe puffed vigorously at his cigar.
"I suppose, Mawruss, if we got a card-index and we sell a crook a bill of goods," he commented, "and the crook busts up on us, Mawruss, that card-index is going to stop him from sticking us--what? Well, Mawruss, if you want to put in a young feller and fire Miss Cohen, go ahead--I'm satisfied."
As if to clinch the matter before his partner could retract this somewhat grudging consent, Morris Perlmutter stalked out of the sample-room and made resolutely for the glass-enclosed office, where Miss Cohen was busy writing in a ledger. She looked up as he entered, and surveyed him calmly with her large black eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Perlmutter!" she said when he came within ear-shot, "Uncle Max was round to the house last night, and he wants you should duplicate them forty-twenty-twos in his last order and ship at once."
Morris stopped short. This was something he had not foreseen, and all his well-formulated plans for the firing of Miss Cohen were shattered at once.
"Oh!" he said lamely. "Thank you, Miss Cohen; I'll make a memorandum of it." He went over to the commercial agency book and scanned three or four pages with an unseeing eye. Then he repaired to the sample room, where Abe sat finishing his cigar.
"Well, Mawruss," said Abe, his face wreathed in a malicious grin, "you made a quick job of it."
Morris scowled.
"I ain't spoken to her yet," he grunted. "I got a little gumption, Abe--a little consideration and common sense. I don't throw out my dirty water until I get clean."
Abe puffed slowly before replying.
"I seen some people, Mawruss," he said, "what sometimes throws out perfectly clean water, and gets some dirty water in exchange, Mawruss." He threw away the stump of his cigar.
"Sometimes, Mawruss," he concluded solemnly, "they gets a good, big souse, Mawruss, where they least expect it."
* * * * *
Ike Feinsilver, city salesman for the Hamsuckett Mills--Goldner & Plotkin, proprietors--was obviously his own ideal of a well-dressed man. His shirts and waistcoats represented a taste as original as it was not subdued; but it was in the selection of his neckties that he really excelled. Abe and Morris fairly blinked as they surveyed his latest acquisition in cravats when he entered the door of their store that afternoon, smiling a pleasant greeting at his prospective customers.
He presented so brilliant a picture that Miss Cohen was drawn from her desk in the glass-enclosed office toward the trio in the sample room as inevitably as the moth to the candle flame. She took up some cutting slips from a table, by way of excuse for her intrusion, but the blush and smile with which she acknowledged Ike's rather perfunctory nod betrayed her. Abe was fingering the Hamsuckett swatches, but Miss Cohen's embarrassment did not escape Morris Perlmutter. He marked it with an inward start, and immediately conceived a brilliant idea.
"Ike," he said, when Abe had completed the giving of a small order and had left them alone together, "a young feller like you ought to get married."
Ike was non-committal.
"Sure Mawruss," he replied. "Every young feller ought to get married."
"I'm glad you look at it so sensible, Ike," Morris went on. "Getting married right, Ike, has been the making of many a young feller. Where d'ye suppose Goldner & Plotkin would be to-day if they hadn't got married right? They'd be selling goods for somebody else, Ike. But Goldner, he married Bella Frazinsky, with a couple of thousand dollars maybe; and Plotkin, he goes to work and gets Garfunkel's sister--she was pretty old, Ike; but if she ain't got a fine complexion, Ike, she got a couple of thousand dollars, too, ain't it? Well, Plotkin with his two thousand and Goldner with his two thousand, they start in together as new beginners. They gets the selling agency for the Hamsuckett people, and then they makes big money and buys them out. To-day Goldner & Plotkin is rich men, and all because they got married
right!"
Feinsilver listened with parted lips.
"And now, Ike," Morris continued, "the good seed sown, we talked enough, ain't it? Come on to the office. I want to show you some little mistakes in the Hamsuckett statement."
He conducted Ike to the glass-enclosed office, where Miss Cohen bent low over her ledger. The blush with which she had received Ike's greeting had not entirely disappeared; and, as she glanced up, her large black eyes looked like those of a frightened deer. Morris was forced to admit to himself that if her bookkeeping was doubtful, at least there could be no mistake about her charms. As for Ike, now that the business of securing orders was done with, he surrendered himself to gallantry, for which he had a natural aptitude.
"Ah, Miss Cohen," he said, "ain't it a fine weather?"
A pleased smile spread itself over Morris's face.
"I think I hear the telephone in the sample room," he broke in hurriedly. "Excuse me for a moment."
When he returned, Ike and Miss Cohen were chatting gaily.
"What do you think of
that?" Morris cried. "My Minnie just rang me up and says she got tickets for the theayter to-morrow night--two tickets. We can't use 'em, because we're going to a--a wedding. Would you two young folks like to go, maybe?"
"Why, sure," Ike said. "Sure we would. Wouldn't we, Miss Cohen?"
Miss Cohen assented bashfully.
"Well, then," said Morris, "I'll get 'em for you--I mean I'll send 'em you by mail to-night, Ike."
Ike was profuse in his thanks; and then and there arranged to call for Miss Cohen at half-past seven, sharp, the following evening.
Morris beamed his approval and shook hands heartily with Ike as the latter turned to leave.
"How about that mistake in the statement?" Ike asked.
"Some other time," said Morris, walking with Ike toward the store-door. Then he sank his voice to a confidential whisper. "That's a fine girl, Miss Cohen," he went on. "Comes of fine family, too. She's Max Cohen's niece. You know Max Cohen. He's the Beacon Credit Outfitting Company. He's a
millionaire, Ike. If he's worth a cent, he's worth a hundred thousand dollars!"
Ike turned on him an awed yet searching look as they clasped hands again in parting.
"I give you my word, Ike, she's his favourite niece," Morris concluded, "
and he ain't got no children of his own."
* * * * *
The ensuing week was a busy one for all concerned. Abe was occupied in the store with an unusual rush of spring trade, Morris had his hands full in the office and cutting-room; but Miss Cohen and Ike Feinsilver had been busiest of all, for in less than six days after their visit to the theatre a solitaire diamond-ring sparkled on the third finger of the lady's left hand.
"Well, Mawruss," Abe said ten days later, "I suppose you fired Miss Cohen?"
"Me fire Miss Cohen?" Morris exclaimed. "I'm surprised to hear you that you should talk that way, Abe. What for should I fire Miss Cohen?"
"Why, last week you said you was going to fire her, ain't it?"
"Last week," Morris replied, "was another day. If I ain't got no more sense than that I should go to a fine young lady like Miss Cohen, and say, 'Miss Cohen, you're fired,' after she worked for us five years, and her uncle also a good customer, I should be sorry, Abe."
"Then, we're going to keep her, after all--what?" Abe said.
"No, we ain't going to keep her," said Morris. "We're going to lose her."
"
Lose her! What d'ye mean?"
Morris smiled in a superior way.
"Abe," he said, "you ain't got no eyes in your head. Ain't you noticed that ring on Miss Cohen's left hand?"
Abe stared in astonishment.
"It's a beauty, Abe," Morris went on. "A bright young feller like Ike Feinsilver don't get stuck, no matter what he buys. He got it through Plotkin's cousin down on Maiden Lane."
Abe sat down to ponder over the news.
"You mean," he said at length, "that Ike Feinsilver, of the Hamsuckett Mills, is going to marry Miss Cohen?"
"You guessed it right, Abe," Morris replied.
"And who fixed it up?" said Abe.
Morris slapped his chest proudly.
"I did," he replied.
Abe smoked on in silence.
"I suppose I must congratulate her, Mawruss?" he said at length, starting to rise.
"There's no hurry," said Morris. "I let her go uptown this morning. She wanted to do some shopping."
Abe sat down again.
"You done a smart piece of work, Mawruss, I must say," he admitted. "Ike's a good feller, and Miss Cohen'll make him a good wife, even if she ain't a good bookkeeper. Also, we done a good turn to Max Cohen. I bet he's pleased. I wonder he ain't been around yet."
Hardly had the words issued from Mr. Potash's mouth, when the store-door opened to admit a short, thick-set person, and then closed again with a bang that threatened every pane of glass in the vicinity. There was no hesitation about the newcomer's actions. He made straight for the sample room, and had almost reached it before Abe could scramble to his feet. The latter rushed forward and grabbed the visitor's hand.
"Mr. Cohen," he cried, "what a pleasure this is! I congratulate you!"
Mr. Cohen withdrew his hand from Abe's cordial grasp.
"You congradulate
me, hey?" he said, with slow and ironic emphasis. "Mawruss Perlmutter
also congradulates me--what?" He fixed the unhappy Morris with a terrible glare. "Don't congradulate
me," he went on. "Congradulate Ike Feinsilver and Beckie Cohen." He gathered force as he proceeded. "Fools!" he continued in a rapid crescendo. "Meddlers! You spill my blood! You ruin me! I'm a millionaire, you tell Feinsilver. I've got nothing to do with my money but that I should throw it away in the street!"
"
Mister Cohen," Morris protested, "you'll make yourself sick."
"I'll make
you sick!" Cohen rejoined. "I'll make for you a blue eye, too.
Five thousand dollars I got to give her!"
Abe whistled involuntarily.
"I should think two thousand would be plenty," he suggested.
Max Cohen turned on him with another glare.
"What!" he shrieked. "Am I a beggar? Should I give my niece a miserable two thousand dollars? Ain't I got no pride? I
got to make it five thousand!" He paused while his imagination dwelt on the magnitude of this colossal sum. "Five thousand dollars!" he shrieked again, "and business the way it is!"
Mr. Perlmutter laid a soothing palm on Cohen's shoulder.
"But, Mr. Cohen," he said, "what can
we do? Why should you tell
us all this?"
Mr. Cohen shook off Morris's caress.
"You're right," he said. "Why should I tell you all this? I didn't come here to tell you this. I come here to tell you something else. I come here to tell you to cancel all orders what I give you. Also, if you or your salesman come by my place ever again, look out; that's all. The way I feel it now, I'll murder you!" He turned to leave. "And another thing," he concluded. "One thing, you can depend on it. So far what I can help it, you don't sell one dollar's worth of goods to any of my friends, never no more!"
Again the door banged explosively, and Mr. Cohen was gone.
For ten minutes there was an awed silence in the sample room. At length Abe looked at his partner with a sickly smile.
"Well, Mawruss," he said, "you made a nice mess of it, ain't you?"
Morris was too stunned to reply.
"That's what comes of not minding your own business," said Abe. "We lose a good customer, and maybe several good customers. We lose a good bookkeeper, too, Mawruss--one what has been with us for five years; and also we are out a wedding present."
"I meant it good," Morris protested. "I done it for the best. It says in the Talmud, Abe, that we are commanded to promote marriages."
Abe waggled his head solemnly.
"This is the first time I hear it, that you are a Talmudist, Mawruss!" he said.
A month passed, and Miss Cohen continued to apply herself to her daily task at Potash & Perlmutter's books.
"I don't understand it, Mawruss," Abe said one morning. "Why don't that girl quit her job? She must have all sorts of things to do--clothes to buy and furniture to pick out, ain't it?"
Perlmutter shrugged his shoulders.
"I spoke to her about it," he replied, "and she says so long as we're so busy here, she guesses she will stay on the job as long as she can. She says her mommer and her sister can do all the shopping for her."
"You see, Mawruss, what a mistake you make," Abe commented with a sigh.
"That's a fine girl, that Miss Cohen!"
Morris nodded gloomily. He began to realize that he had made a mistake, after all. Only that morning Mrs. Perlmutter had demanded twenty dollars with which to make over her best frock for Miss Cohen's wedding.
"Sure, she's a fine girl," he agreed; "but you got to admit yourself, Abe, that a growing business like ours needs a hustling young man for a bookkeeper."
"That's all right, too, Mawruss," said Abe; "but you also got to admit that what a growing business like ours needs most of all, Mawruss, is customers; and so far what I see, we don't gain any customers by this. Also, my wife has got to make a new dress for the wedding. She told me so this morning."
Morris made no reply. He was growing heartily sick of this business of firing Miss Cohen, and consoled himself with the thought that the wedding was fast approaching, and that they would be rid of her for good.
At length the wedding-day arrived. Miss Cohen left Potash & Perlmutter's at four o'clock, for the ceremony was set for half-past seven in the evening. Her parting with her employers was an embarrassing one for all three. Abe handed her a check for twenty-five dollars, with the firm's blessing, and Morris shook her hand in comparative silence. He had done and suffered much for that moment of leave-taking; and further than wishing her a long and happy married life, he said nothing. As for Abe, the squandering of twenty-five dollars, without hope of return, temporarily exhausted his capacity for emotion.
"Good luck to you, Miss Cohen," he said. "Hope we see you again soon."
"Oh, sure!" Miss Cohen replied cheerfully. "You'll be at the wedding to-night?"
Abe nodded--they all nodded--and then, with a final handshake all around, Miss Cohen departed.
It must be confessed that the wedding reception that evening was a very enjoyable occasion for all the guests, with the possible exception of Max Cohen. The wine flowed like French champagne at four dollars a quart, while, as Morris Perlmutter at once deduced from the careful way in which the waiters disguised the label with a napkin, it was really domestic champagne of an inferior quality. Nevertheless, Abe Potash drank more than his share, in a rather futile attempt to get back, in kind, part of the twelve and a half dollars he had contributed toward Miss Cohen's wedding-present, to say nothing of the cost of his wife's gown.
Consequently, on the morning after the festivities he entered his place of business in no very pleasant frame of mind. He found that Morris had already arrived.
"Well, Mawruss," he said in greeting, "everything went off splendid--for Feinsilver. Max Cohen came down with a certified check for five thousand dollars, you and me got rid of about over a hundred, counting the wedding-present and our wives' dresses, and Miss Cohen got a husband and a lot of cut glass, while
me--I got a headache!"
Morris grunted.
"I guess you don't feel too good yourself, ain't it?" Abe went on. "Anyhow, you got to get busy now, and find some smart young feller to keep the books. You got rid of your dirty water, Mawruss; now you got to get some clean. Did you put an 'ad' in the papers, Mawruss?"
"No, I ain't," Morris snapped.
"Ain't you going to?"
"What for?" Morris growled. "We don't need no bookkeeper."
"Why not?" Abe cried.
Morris nodded in the direction of the office.
"Because we
got one," he replied.
Abe turned toward the little glass enclosure. He gasped in amazement, and nearly swallowed the stump of his cigar, for at the old stand, industriously applying herself to the books of Potash & Perlmutter, sat Mrs. Isaac Feinsilver,
née Cohen.
A moment later the door opened, and Isaac Feinsilver entered, immaculately clothed in a suit of zebra-like design. He proceeded to the bookkeeper's office and kissed the blushing bride; then he repaired to the sample room.
"Good morning, Mawruss! Good morning, Abe!" he said briskly. "Ain't it a fine weather?" He threw a bundle of swatches upon the sample table. "My partners, Goldner & Plotkin, and me"--here he paused to note the effect--"is putting out a fine line of spring goods, and I want to show you some."
Abe and Morris looked over Ike's line in dazed astonishment; and before they were really cognizant of what was going on, Ike had booked a generous order. He gathered up the samples into a neat little heap and put them under his arm.
"That ain't so bad," he said, "for a honeymoon order."
Then he turned and strode toward the bookkeeper's office. Once more he saluted the lips of his assiduous spouse, and a moment later he was walking rapidly down the street. Abe looked after him and expelled a huge breath.
"You find it in the Talmud that we are commanded to promote marriages, ain't it, Mawruss?" he said. "But one thing's sure, Mawruss--you can't run a cloak-and-suit business according to the Talmud." There was a short silence. "Did you ask her why she comes back, Mawruss?" he said.
Morris took the end off a particularly black cigar with one vicious bite.
"I didn't have to ask her. She told me," he said bitterly. "She says a smart girl can get a husband any day, she says; but a good job is hard to find, and when you got one, you should stick to it!" _